


Worth Dying For

by DilophoLehnsherr



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Blood, Deathclaws, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Spoilers, Nightmares, Please Don't Kill Me, RJ being overprotective, Sickfic, Sole needs a hug, Tags will come with plot, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:31:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6239428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DilophoLehnsherr/pseuds/DilophoLehnsherr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MacCready loved him with all his heart. He would do anything he could just to make sure that his Ricky was safe, warm, and happy. Any enemy that tried to hurt his beloved vault-dweller would fall to his gun, any threat would be crushed beneath his boot without a second thought. When it came to keeping Ricky safe, he was the best there was. But this? He wasn't expecting this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fever

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I just romanced Creads yesterday, I ship it WAY too hard, and I love to suffer. This one I actually have a full plan for, and it involves a lot of crying and death. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And yes, I named my Sole Survivor “Maverick.” It was my mom’s idea and I’ve kind of grown attached to it. This work unfortunately lacks a beta, so I am so very sorry if it sucks. But I’d LOVE to hear some constructive criticism, and I love every single one of you who clicked on this! Enjoy this first chapter, everyone!

Camping out through the night was not an unusual practice with the mercenary and the untimely scavenger who currently occupied themselves by a small bonfire. The night was silent but for the occasional scurrying of mutated insects, but the harmful ones seemed to be keeping their distance for tonight. Besides, if anything was stupid enough to pick a fight with them, they’d be lucky if they escaped with their lives. 

It was MacCready’s turn to watch for danger, to keep a trained eye out for any harm that might come to his dear, sweet vault-dweller. The poor guy was so exhausted tonight, he may have warped the truth a bit in telling him that he’d wake him upon his round. In truth, RJ had resigned himself to wait out the entire night, letting him get some much-needed rest. With a lingering glance from his rocky overlook to that familiar, sleeping form, MacCready could just make out the fiery ginger hue of his hair against the softening light of the slowly dying flame. That mutt of his padded over and curled up beside him, tucking his nose under his tail, ears pricked and eyes raised to the man watching the scene. 

As the fire finally flickered its last, MacCready thought he caught a glimpse of movement from his partner. With a small sigh and a shake of the head, the gun-for-hire stood, boots scrunching against dry, dead grass as he stepped over, kneeling beside the one person that brought a beacon of happiness into his life, giving him something to fight for. He was about to sarcastically scold him, tell him to go the hel-er, go the  _ heck _ back to sleep. But there was no need, for he was still snoozing away. Huh, that was weird. RJ could have sworn he saw something… 

Instead of turn away again, MacCready moved a hand over to his face, gently swiping a stray lock of red hair out of his closed eyes. Even in the almost complete absence of light, MacCready could still faintly see the freckles that splayed across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, the stubble of a beard that could barely be seen on his pale skin unless hit by direct sunlight, and he could hear the way he quietly mumbled nonsense when caught in the throes of slumber. This was his Maverick, as ridiculous in personality as he was in name, and god was RJ head-over-heels for him. 

Wait, there was that movement again. It wasn’t immediately obvious, either. MacCready only noticed it when his hand trailed away to gently run down Ricky’s side, hardly touching for fear of waking him. In his concern he risked pressing his hand down a little bit, and in that action discovered the source of his sudden worry: Ricky was shivering. Being a little cold wasn’t something to worry about, it was the fact that it was boiling hot out that made it unusual. All the same, MacCready’s instinctual reaction was to slip his jacket off, drape it over the scavenger’s body, and hope it would do as a good enough blanket. The mercenary watched as Ricky responded, curling into the warmth, tucking his nose into the tan collar. He drawled something about how musky it smelled, and if MacCready weren’t worried, he would have snickered at that comment. 

“You okay, buddy?” Maybe he was being paranoid, or overprotective, both of which he tended to be, but something just didn’t feel right about this. MacCready resolved to focus most of his watch on Ricky for the rest of the night, but before he the thought of returning to his post even crossed his mind, he leaned down and placed a light, lingering kiss on the ginger’s forehead, only for his eyes to widen at the feverish heat radiating off of his skin. 

Woah, back up, when had Ricky’s forehead ever felt that hot when he kissed it? Maybe after a long sprint away from an angry Alpha Deathclaw, but never under non-strenuous conditions. He was right: something was wrong, and by the looks of things MacCready hoped with all his being that it was just a mild fever that would break by morning, or a minor sickness that would leave him with the sniffles for a few days. But at the same time, he knew better than that. A mild fever isn’t synonymous with chills, nor a minor sickness. No wonder Ricky was so tired after a day of simple traveling. 

A quiet, sad whimper sounded from Dogmeat as he roused himself, shaking the dirt off of his fur. He trodded over to the man who had become his unofficial owner, and gently nudged his cheek with a wet snout. Ricky groaned against it. A meek, rough sound it was. MacCready felt his breath catch in his throat, his gut instinct screaming at him to get him to investigate further. Less careful for the sake of feeling now, he moved his hand up to Ricky’s face, dabbing around it to get a gauge on his fever. Jesus, he was burning up all over! 

“Hey,” MacCready whispered, attempting to rouse the redhead from his uneasy slumber, but not too fast. The last thing he wanted was to add grogginess on top of his symptoms. When no response came along, he trailed his hand down to cup at Ricky’s face, running his thumb along the warm skin in a slow rhythm. “Hey, Ricky. Time to wake up, okay?” He kept his voice soft, using that sweet tone that was reserved solely for his love. 

That got something, at least. A movement against MacCready’s palm revealed Ricky to be rubbing his cheek into it like a cat seeking shelter. It wasn’t the same as when he would do just that during sleepy mornings in home plate, begging RJ in that adorably slurred voice for  _ just five more minutes…  _ No, this wasn’t disgustingly cute and it didn’t make him want to smother him with kisses until he finally dragged himself out of bed. This was desperate, longing for more contact not because he wanted it, but because he needed it. “You awake, darlin’?” RJ inquired, to which the only reply was a tiny nod paired with more mumbled nonsense. The most that MacCready could make out was something about taking over the watch. Like he’d let Ricky even stand on his own right now.

“Sshh, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that, I’ve got it for tonight. You just worry about getting some rest. I just wanted to ask you something. S’a simple yes or no question, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Then you can go right back to sleep,” as RJ spoke, he used his free hand to gently card through Ricky’s hair, gradually soothing him back into a relaxed state. He looked as though he had fallen asleep again, if it were not for the ragged breath that came with every exhale. “Are you feeling alright?” The answer was obvious, but RJ knew how much of a stubborn bastar-uh, idiot, Ricky could be at times. If he ever managed to lose a limb in combat, MacCready would bet caps to cartridges that he’d attempt to shrug it off as though it were a topographical wound. This was his way of assessing what level of panic he should be feeling right now.

“N-no…” Was the weak, hoarse reply. At that simple word, MacCready’s stomach twisted with worry, and he knew then that he couldn’t return to his post. Not when his partner was suffering so. The mercenary needed to be here for Ricky, to make sure he was okay, to hold him through this awful night and offer some kind of relief. But who would watch them while they slept? Alert them to danger lest it drew near? He glanced to the side, where Dogmeat was looking at him with his ear pricked and his head tilted to one side. An experimental gesture that RJ gave towards the overlook sent the dog on his way. Intelligent mutt, that one.

Now that that was taken care of, he addressed the matter at hand once more. “That’s okay, that’s okay,” RJ repeated, though who he was trying to reassure was not clear. “I’ll take care of you, love. You don’t worry about a thing, just go back to sleep, I’m right here with you. Do you want me to lay with you, keep you cozy and warm?” He kept gently scratching at Ricky’s scalp, watching as he weakly tugged him towards the ground, and MacCready moved along with it. Slowly, he settled himself onto the ground, leaving the jacket he had given to the scavenger, for he needed it more than him at the moment. He opened his arms, pulled Ricky into a warm embrace, and tucked his head beneath his chin.

RJ listened to his breathing even out as he fell into the holds of exhaustion once more, but he did not dare follow willingly. He forced himself to keep awake, to focus every sense on his Ricky, listening for any signs of distress. When none arose, MacCready could only keep himself awake for so long. As the night grew darker, he too eventually shut his eyes, nestled his nose into a soft tuft of ginger hair, and drifted off into the darkness. His last conscious thought rang through his head like a siren, asserting itself into the first thing that would be recalled in the morning: “I have to get this bastard to a doctor.”


	2. Cough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people have all the luck, and some have none at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long; I’m so overloaded with work and so stressed out about said work that for a while I thought I was just going to shut down. I’ll tell you this right now: anyone who can manage to maintain a mid-nineties average in their senior year is definitely NOT okay. I need that bloody academic scholarship. @ world: stop making it so difficult and expensive for international students to go and study someplace that isn’t their home country. Anyway, concerning this fic, I’ve had the time to think of plots and sequences and stuff, so enjoy this next little chapter! Again, I wrote this tired, I'm sorry. If you spot any mistakes, please point it out and I'll quickly fix them. Love you all!!

As a mercenary, RJ had trained himself to wake at the sound of a pin, to cast aside any drowsiness for full wakefulness lest the Commonwealth’s scourges attempt to take him for a next meal. This had been a useful ability when he was alone, before he had met Ricky, wandering the nuclear wasteland that was the epitome of darwinism. Later in their relationship, after annoying client had gradually evolved into friend, then trusted companion, and finally commitment, it had become frustrating to instantly wake at the clattering of those tin chimes outside in Diamond City’s market. Danger was no longer a variable to consider there, but out here, with a sick, sleeping vault-dweller in his arms, MacCready was grateful to still possess his perception. 

This became all-too useful when a crack of unnatural thunder jolted RJ awake, instinctively jumping into a sitting position, hand hovering over the holster on his belt. The sudden movement and lack of warmth roused Ricky as well, who gave a rough, hoarse groan. MacCready’s attention immediately tuned to that noise, protectiveness boiling up inside him. 

“Hey, I’m right here, buddy.” MacCready whispered reassuringly, and pulled him into a gentle hold, resting his head in his lap. “I’ve got ya.” That seemed to work wonders to calm Ricky back down, as he deliriously drawled something about Dogmeat before his breathing evened out once again. 

As if on cue, the very canine himself began to bark frantically, hopping about madly as if in distress. RJ snapped his sight towards the dog; the wind around them began to pick up, nearly blowing the hat off his head by the time realisation gave way to a sickening feeling in his gut. Crackles of light unevenly illuminated a thick, yellow smog that approached like a wall against the sky, getting closer and closer by the second, spreading like a terminal virus. An acidic stench assaulted MacCready’s nose, leaving a burning sensation on the inside of his nostrils. 

It was a radiation storm. 

The effects couldn’t be felt now, the exposure was too low. But Ricky was already coughing, his lungs struggling for air that wasn’t contaminated, clinging onto his partner’s torn shirt and burrowing his nose into it. RJ acted fast, hardly thinking his actions through, running on pure, survivalist instinct and loyalty. He quickly helped Ricky into a sitting position, and with a shrill whistle, beckoned Dogmeat over, who trotted anxiously with his tail between his legs. “There’s a gas mask in my bag,” MacCready gestured towards it, sending the animal off in that direction.

“We only have one…” came a scratchy, breathless voice. Ricky’s.

“And you’re gonna wear it, darlin’,” MacCready grabbed the bag from Dogmeat as he approached, fishing into its assorted contents until he withdrew the item he was looking for. “Sorry, but I’m not taking any self-sacrificial crap from you right now. Now hold still.” His tone seemed to shut down any protestation that may have followed, allowing him to carefully move Ricky’s head, slip the mask onto his face, pale cheeks flushed from a raised body temperature, and secure it in place with the straps that wrapped to the back of his head. It wasn’t the best defence, but at least he’d be able to breathe relatively okay now.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta find a place to wait this out. We can’t outrun a storm. I’ll carry you if I have to.” Worry seeped into RJ’s words, and as he stood, he carefully brought Ricky up with him, allowing the redhead to lean against his side for support. The burning in his nose was stronger now, and the air itself seemed thicker, heavier, more difficult to draw in. Every step seemed more difficult than the last, moving in a slow, solid rhythm to help Ricky along. Dogmeat had already run ahead, searching for something in the darkness that had clouded the sky. 

“You’re doing great, just keep going. Don’t worry about stumbling, I’ll catch you.” The only responses that MacCready would gain were small nods, grunts, or nothing at all. But just by talking him through it, he knew it would give him the strength to keep going. They needed shelter, radiation protection,  _ something, _ but this was all open land, barren prairie save for a few small hills. The fog was beginning to encase them now, blocking their vision ahead, leaving anything after twenty feet ahead of them in an opaque brown. 

RJ began to cough then, hacking into his sleeve through his aching throat. His eyes were watering, stinging, vision blurred even further by the moisture. The pain in his nose had grown to bleed, leaving a thin trail of crimson fluid flowing down to his mouth, leaving a metallic taste. He could feel himself growing sluggish, his every bodily system protesting against this, threatening to divulge into shock if the radiation exposure grew too high. It hurt. Oh, god, it  _ hurt _ ; under his skin, through his muscles and right down to the marrow of his bones. However, giving up simply wasn’t an option in his books, especially when he had Ricky to protect. 

Wait, when had the dirt seemed so close to his…?

A blow against the ground knocked the wind out of MacCready, his signature hat falling from his head. In a strong gust of wind, it was blown away in an unknown direction, lost in the dust and the shield of lightning. Consciousness was something he was barely grasping onto, dark edges closing in from the edges of his sight. The instinct of the alpha wolf to protect the pact had no power here, in the cruel, unforgiving wasteland that was the epitome of darwinism. His life now hanged by a thread, teetering on the edge of a cliff, for if the radiation didn’t kill him, some creature would inevitably come along and scavenge for fresh meat. It would take some stroke of miraculous luck to save them now; luck experience had taught RJ long ago that he didn’t have.

 

***

 

“Aye, boss, check this out!” 

“What are you goin’ off about, Riley?” 

“Looks like a pair of scavengers. Probably got caught up in that storm that blew over.” 

“Well, are they dead?” 

“Might be. Aren’t movin’. Maybe if I poke this guy a bit…” The light prod of a boot stuck into MacCready’s side, pulling him into the waking world just enough to register voices, feeling, pain. 

“Did he move?”

“Nah.”

A sickening mixture of phlegm and blood started to pile up in his throat, slowly flooding his airways, making the simple act of breathing more difficult by the second.

“Then they’re dead.”

“What do I do?”

“Loot them, dumbass!”

A sudden, rough fit of hacking took over MacCready’s body, lurching with every desperate attempt at breath. Spatters of blood coloured the dirt beneath him, running down his chin as it grew more and more intense. The world around him began to swim out of focus as his every function tried only to clear the toxins out of his respiratory system, with little to no effect. Before he could cough himself raw, that same boot that had lightly kicked at his side not a minute before rested firmly on his side, almost painfully digging in, administering a powerful kick that shoved RJ onto his back. The blinding sun assaulted his eyes, which immediately squinted shut. When he dared to open them again, it was to a pair of faces: a man and a woman, who looked down on him with conflicted expressions. 

“You a raider?” The man asked. “Or a drifter? Synth? Caravan folk, maybe?” 

“For Christ’s sake, leave him alone!” The woman interjected, “he’s clearly been through enough already.”

“I’m just being  _ cautious _ ! You know how dangerous the Commonwealth can be; what if he puts a bullet in our brains and walks away with all our caps?” 

“Shut up.” She turned her gaze to MacCready now, expression softening from one of irritation to one of genuine concern. “You alright, traveller?”

The last thing RJ felt up to doing right now was talking, but before he could so much as think of himself, or the agony that clawed at the inside of his throat like a savage Deathclaw at every spoken syllable, he had to know one thing. “Is my partner alive?” 

 


	3. Sleep Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were always there for one another after the nightmares. They understood the pain, the trauma, the awful side-effects that leaked into their waking world. They were always there for one another, until they weren't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason why I don’t call Creads “Robert” in this fic. One of my band friend’s names is Robert, and it just weirds me out a little because everytime I read “Robert” I think of this skinny trumpet player who is two grades below mine instead of the Mungo of a mercenary who I’m trying to go for here. There are some minor spoilers for the end of the Molecular Level quest throughout this, so if you haven’t played to the part where you enter The Institute, then please proceed with caution. Luckily, they’re all written in italicized text, so just avoid those and you’ll be fine! It’s mostly for some hefty symbolism’s sake, anyway, and to just let the massive urge I have to write it out without throwing yet another angsty fic out into the world. But it will be quite short if you skip to the end of the flashback. There will be more flashback chapters to come, some continuing after this one and some as individual little drabbles. As always, enjoy this! Thanks so much for the comments and kudos, you make my day everytime!

_ “So, you’re gonna trust a machine to pull you apart and put you back together again?” MacCready shielded his concern behind a quizzical look, knowing his worry would do nothing to sway Ricky’s decision. With a raised eyebrow, he said “Well, when you get back, I’ll be the first one to shake your hand. If you still have one.”  _

_ That little quip earned a chuckle from Ricky, paired with the small, uncertain grin he tended to do in stressful situations. A long, audible breath escaped his throat, the only testament he willingly offered to the fear he was really feeling. Picking up on this immediately, RJ motioned with his hand for him to follow, and turned to walk away, leading them both far from the prying eyes and ears of their Railroad companions. The mercenary headed into the ruined diner, up the stairs and to the small room that was once home to the decomposed skeleton that now occupied the space on the grimy mattress. There was hardly enough room for the both of them, but through pushing a few things down the stairs, RJ managed to clear enough space for them to sit side-by-side. He lowered himself down to sit, and patted the small space next to him, beckoning Ricky over. The other man did so wordlessly, for once in his life at a loss for words. The anxiety was pouring off of him in waves, enticing MacCready to sling a reassuring arm around his shoulder, to which he accepted with a grateful half-smile. _

_ “You wanna talk about it?” MacCready ventured. _

_ “Mm, maybe,” Ricky nestled his head in the crook of RJ’s neck, taking in everything about him, using it to hold his ground, to store the strength he needed to go through with all of this. “I just… I don’t know, it’s all just so overwhelming.” That voice of his, usually so calm and unbreakable unless force was needed, cracked on the last word.  _

_ That left an ache in MacCready’s chest, a longing to make it all better again. So he did the first thing he thought of, which was turning his comforting hold on his partner to a protective one, letting him know that at least, for what it was worth, he was safe here, now, for he wouldn’t let anything happen to him so long as he was around. They didn’t need words to communicate, just gestures and signals.  _

_ “You can’t come with me…” Ricky sniffled, swiftly ducking his face away from view, furiously clawing away the sudden threat of tears that stung at his eyes. Damn, just thinking about the prospect of finding Shaun, of going in  _ alone _ , terrified the absolute shit out of him.  _

_ “Hey, hey…” No, no. Don’t cry. He hated it when Ricky cried, hated it so fu-freaking much. Especially when it was out of fear, for the redhead was the most courageous man he knew. “Ricky, look at me.” With a gentle touch to his chin, RJ tilted his head up slowly, exposing those big blue eyes of his, the way they shimmered with unshed tears, one rogue drop falling down his cheek. Before it could make it any farther than his cheekbone, MacCready wiped it away with his thumb, sweeping away a lock of ginger hair in the same motion. Their eyes locked, peering into each other’s in a brief silence, broken by RJ’s next words. “I may not be with you physically, but I made a promise to protect you, didn’t I?” He waited for that shaky nod before continuing, “You still have that little toy soldier I gave you, right?”  _

_ Ricky blinked, before unbuttoning and reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket withdrawing the small item and showing it to him. “Never let it out of my sight.” _

_ “Sap,” MacCready offered a grin. _

_ “You’re one to talk.” _

_ “Anyway, what I wanted to say is this: that little carving you hold in your hand is a part of me. You’ll never be alone so long as you keep it with you. I’ll be there wherever you take it.” As if to emphasize his claim, MacCready leaned in and pulled Ricky in for a soft kiss, lingering on his lips for an eternal moment before finally severing the connection. While he pulled away, through the incredible lovestruck twist in his gut, he saw a bright, bittersweet smile gleaming on Ricky’s face, lighting up his features with a beautiful expression. Then he started to snicker, which slowly led into a continuous giggle, and finally evolved into a full-bodied laugh. _

_ Man, he loved that laugh. The way he lost control and just got lost in the joy of it all. Still, RJ playfully frowned in mock-offense. “What’s so funny?” _

_ Through breathless cackling, Ricky managed a high-pitched “that’s… That’s the ch-cheesiest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”  _

_ RJ opened his mouth to protest, only to be prematurely silenced when he felt strong arms fling around his waist, nearly tackling him to the floor when he was pulled into a tight hug, nearly wringing the breath out of him. Thinking about it now, he supposed it was kind of cheesy, but seemed to reassure him all the same. With a sincere smile of his own, RJ ruffled up Ricky’s hair, pushed him back up, and whispered conspiratorially “Knock ‘em dead, Tricky-Ricky. I’ll be waiting when you get home.” He offered a wink, a knowing smirk, and nearly shoved him down the stairs.  _

_ “Mutfruit,” Ricky retaliated in the blink of an eye, which enticed a bright flush of red to explode across RJ’s cheeks. _

_ “Sh-shut up, it was  _ one  _ dream!”  _

_ No reply was given, but instead a brief turn-around, a quick peck to his forehead, a mouthed “I love you,” and another spin on his heels as he ran down the stairs. The voices of Tinker Tom and Des could be heard in the distance, prepping the machine for teleportation, and Ricky’s voice, giving the go-ahead to proceed.  _

_ Crackles of electricity struck against the sky as bright lights filtered through the window. RJ couldn’t bring himself to watch the man he loved get molecularly deconstructed before his eyes, but at least he’d be okay, right? Tom knew what he was doing, right? He wasn’t alone; he had Lucy’s toy soldier, ri-? _

_ The thought was cut off when he found that the very carving was still in his hand, away from Ricky, offering no symbolic guidance. His head snapped towards the window, but only in time to catch the last flash of light, before a deafening, bone-rattling explosion assaulted every sense, leaving a constant white noise in his ears that would last for days. _

 

***

 

MacCready shot up from the mattress, every muscle protesting in pain to the sudden, tensed movement. The shout that attempted to leave his throat was nothing but a choked silence against a burning pain. Through panicked breathing and rapid head movements he took in his surroundings: the darkness of night clouded over the small room, covering the makeshift furniture in one black shadow. His heart raced in his ears, the loud pounding raising that same ringing, white noise in his ears that still occasionally persisted to this day.

He should be calming down by now; why wasn’t he calming down?! Ricky. It was Ricky that always calmed him down after a vivid nightmare. Without his warm embrace or soothing words, his racing mind had nothing to grasp onto but the darkness in front of him. His vault-dweller wasn’t here, he was upstairs, being tended to by the brother and sister who took them in, offered them shelter, food, clean clothes. Well, at least as clean as anyone could get them in the Commonwealth. 

Ricky wasn’t here, he was somewhere else. They were separated, torn from each other’s mutual security, unable to offer any relief from each other’s ailments. MacCready, to Ricky’s unknown illness, and Ricky, to the tears welling up in MacCready’s eyes in response to the growing emotion and panic that coiled up like a venom inside his gut. This wasn’t right, nothing was right. 

Not a sound echoed through the run-down house as a former mercenary, struck by a daunting loneliness not felt since the death of a different lover, lowered his head into his knees, hid his face behind two arms that formed an impregnable wall, and started to cry. Perhaps it was a ridiculous action; perhaps it was a bit childish, or impractical, or even unnecessary, but right now, as salty tears rushed down his cheeks, he couldn’t be brought to care about appearances. 


	4. Nausea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most unexpected objects can be found in the most unexpected places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where things start to get interesting! I must admit, I had some trouble with this chapter, because my last few weeks have been jam-packed with all sorts of crap. I went to the local Comic Con, was in the cosplay competition and met Max Landis so that was a ton of fun and was the main reason I couldn’t update over spring break. Sorry about that, but now I’m back on a steady schedule again, and granted that Student Council and Grad responsibilities don’t consume me, I should be able to update a lot more now. Thanks for being patient with me! See you guys soon, have a great day and enjoy!!

Small talk wasn’t normally something RJ indulged in with strangers, and this was no exception. However, it wasn’t personal protection that dominated his reason for silence. Sleep had not been a factor to consider after he woke so unexpectedly last night. His eyes were dry, heavy, the hint of dark shadows cast over them. He didn’t feel like eating, especially not the suspiciously well-preserved Dandy Boy Apples that had been put in front of him, which, if he ventured a guess, had soaked up some radiation over the centuries. Still, politeness towards those who offered help won out over his own hesitation, so he nibbled at the slices with a gaze that searched elsewhere.

“You okay?” Riley’s boyish voice asked, and upon looking over to meet his eyes, MacCready noticed how big and caring they were. They were the central feature of his face, the first thing one would notice if they were to speak to him. Those eyes were so familiar, for Ricky had the same soft kindness and compassion that lingered in every look. 

When silence was RJ’s reply, Riley’s older sister, Veronica, took the conversation into her own hands. She was the obvious reason that Riley hadn’t gotten gutted by raiders a long time ago. “Look, I know you’re not under the best of circumstances. You probably feel like shit because your friend can’t even string a proper sentence together, but you know just as well as we do how dangerous the Commonwealth can be. There are raiders, Yao Guis, ferals, Deathcla-”

“That’s the same tone people use when they’re trying to warn you about something.” MacCready interrupted, his normal tone overruled by a thick hoarseness from a recovering throat. He met her eyes with cold, guarded ones of his own, the walls that Ricky had torn down now standing tall and proud once again in front of Veronica. 

“My point is that you can’t sit there and mope around about it. You gotta get moving, get you and him far away from here, because we can’t help him.” Veronica wasn’t one to beat around the bush; being blunt and brutally honest was often the quickest, most efficient course of action. Under different circumstances, RJ would have gained a strong respect for her. 

“Okay, so I’ll get him to a doctor. Diamond City is the closest town. Problem solved.” It was a half day’s travel from here when both were in perfect health, so it might stretch to a day or so. Completely doable. 

“Sorry, but Doctor Sun’s not gonna cut it for this.” 

MacCready felt his muscles tense at Veronica’s news. What? No, that was ridiculous. Sun could cure anything with the right amount of RadAway and Stimpaks. Heck, when Ricky was doubled-over and throwing up every five seconds after their little visit to The Glowing Sea, a half hour under his care had him right as rain. RJ shook his head in disbelief. “He can cure anything.”

“Can he cure something that no one should be able to develop in the first place?” Riley interjected.

“What are you talking about?” MacCready felt a twinge in his gut, a sensation that screamed that there was something very,  _ very  _ wrong. He knew what the issue was before it was vocalised, yet he couldn’t bring himself to accept it unless told to do so by a third party.

“He’s talking about chronic radiation poisoning.” Veronica silenced her brother by shooting him a glare, to which he simply ducked his head, though his eyes watched the strange man with interest and compassion. “It’s different than simply soaking up rads and flushing them out with some RadAway. Human beings evolved to take the strain of the constant radiation that makes up our atmosphere now. It’s the excess that’s dangerous to us. But before, if anyone were exposed to any form of it for too long, it started to inflict massive damage to their bodies. It wasn’t an issue then, because they knew how to contain it. Now it’s everywhere, you can’t escape it.”

MacCready was growing increasingly light-headed, gradually emotional, with every word she spoke. It was all starting to make sense now, and RJ couldn’t help but think of all the time Ricky had spent not just in this future that was so strange to him, but also around high radiation; dangerous, raw compounds; isotopes; enemies with glowing, irradiated blood that he simply wiped off. “How long ago do you think this was? When people couldn’t handle it?” His tone wavered towards the end of his inquiry, a fleeting display of his true feelings that were typically hidden so far away from everyone but a select few. 

“Before The Great War is my estimation. So… 200 years? Maybe more, I’m not good at math. My question is why someone is experiencing it today. Flaw in genetics, maybe. Something on a basic level.” 

RJ tuned her out after the affirmative number was spoken. He couldn’t listen anymore; every word heard felt like a metaphorical punch to the stomach. Strong legs rapidly diminished in strength, and if he weren’t sitting, he would have stumbled to the floor. The colour drained from his face, the world around him swimming in a dizzy fuzz. He was starting to feel sick, more so than the radiation fever he was recovering from. It felt as though a great burden had been placed on his skull, for his head started to hang low, the weight of this information seeming to tug him down. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Riley’s eyes narrowed in a concerned fashion, his voice managing to pull MacCready back into the present moment.

“W-what can I do?” Was the first thing that stumbled out of his mouth. “How can I help him?” He wanted to scream, wanted nothing more than to switch places with the redhead. What had Ricky ever done to deserve something like this? 

The desperation that seeped out of RJ’s gaze, betrayed his true internal struggle to the world, that was what provoked the nervous glances that Riley and Veronica exchanged. It was the same silent communication that was so familiar between Ricky and RJ. “Uh…” Riley muttered to fill the silence, which triggered the more vocal sibling to speak up. 

“You’re not gonna like it,” she stated simply, leaning back against the chair and crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I don’t care.” MacCready nearly snarled.

“There’s a slim-to-none chance you’ll survive.”

“I. Don’t. Care.” The words dragged out on his tongue, every syllable enunciated to express singular letters. 

Veronica threw her arms up in defeat. “Okay, fine. If you wanna get yourself killed, go for it.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing out a long exhale before proceeding. “You ever hear of the Children of Atom?”

A twinge in RJ’s gut had him hesitating before his response, “...yeah. We’ve dealt with them before. Crater Of Atom, and all that crap.”

An interested perk in Veronica’s brow showed her surprise at that proclamation. So, he’d walked through the woods and survived; perhaps he had a better chance than she thought. “Good, because you’ve gotta go to them. As insufferable as they are, they’re the only ones who know how to live within that constant radiation. If anyone has a cure, it’s them.” 

A hopeful glint shone in RJ’s eye. “So I can just drop him off with some of his trusted friends, throw on a hazmat suit and make a trip to the Glowing Sea?” 

“Slow down there,” Riley interjected this time. “They don’t lend their secrets to outsiders. If they’re even willing to help, or you can persuade them somehow, he’s gotta be there in person. There’s a few obvious problems with that.”

MacCready’s gaze fell once more, but this time it wasn’t hopelessness that was threatening to consume him, but a growing determination. They had a solution; one riddled with problems, but a solution nonetheless. He was a good problem-solver, he had to be to get this far alive; he could figure something out. He always figured something out. 

 

*** 

 

“Hey, buddy.” RJ managed to put on a bittersweet smile as he gently ran a thumb over Ricky’s freckled cheek. Heat leaked off of it in concerning amounts, juxtaposed against the shivering still present on his sleeping form. At least for now, he was at peace, breathing steadily and mumbling the nonsense he did when caught in the throes of a vivid dream. As ever, MacCready wondered what was going on in that imaginative head of his. 

The creaking of footsteps against broken, splintered floorboards piqued his attention, and he knew he would be ushered out in a moment if he was caught interrupting Ricky’s rest. The former gunner acted fast, carefully taking that rough, calloused hand in his own, raising it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the back. “I’ll find a way; don’t you worry.” 

 

***

 

There wasn’t much in the way of scenery in an irradiated wasteland that once was the proud city of Boston. The occasional rough, dehydrated plant would persist out of the acidic dirt along an old highway, a broken, jagged skyline poking out over the smog in the distance. Nothing disturbed the grass except for the steady breeze that ruffled the leaves, a serene element added to the awful undertone of the context of this picture. 

The soft, purposeful trot of a loyal animal was the only sighting of a mobile creature, padding along the path with perked ears, senses tuned like a radar to anything that might lead to his missing human. He lost him in the storm, the dust covering his scent and masking any marks he could track back to his current location. Without him, this canine was lost as to what purpose he served to the world, and he’d be damned if he allowed any harm to come to his owner or that grumpy one with the hat. 

A sudden scurrying in the grass alerted Dogmeat to another presence, hostile, by the rancid smell that was wafting into his trained nose. He lowered himself down, bared his sharp fangs, pinned his ears back in a threatening gesture, yet the unknown entity persisted. A radroach scuttled its way around him, hissing and nipping at its opponent’s heels. In one swift motion, Dogmeat leaped back and pounced, driving his claws and teeth into the creature’s throat, killing it instantly. 

Gross, its goopy blood was all over his snout now. The dog grunted in disgust, sitting down in order to raise a paw in an attempt to wipe the stuff off. Where’d that thing come from, anyway? He hadn’t encountered a radroach in miles, it felt like. Standing back up, Dogmeat shook himself off to go investigate the source, for there were usually more where one came from. 

Nothing. Hm. 

Wait, what was that green thing covered in dust over there?

Dogmeat’s curiousity led him to jog over, nudging the foreign object out of the dirt it was half-buried in. A familiar scent met his nostrils the moment the material was exposed, which led to an excited wag of his tail. It was a hat, caked in dirt and ruffled beyond hope of straightening out again, but recognisable in a heartbeat. Without a second thought, Dogmeat scooped the object up in his bite, and bounded off as fast as his legs would carry him back onto the path. 


	5. Manufactured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I have time to write! Luckily, I managed to do well on my Biology diploma exam back in January so I’m not stuck in the same boat as those who have to rewrite it (long story short, we went two months without a teacher because ours had to resign suddenly). I honestly don’t know how I managed that. Since you guys seemed to really like the last one I did, I decided to throw another flashback your way, with an entire chapter dedicated to it because I’m having writer’s block but don’t want to leave you guys in the dark! Ask and ye shall receive, my dear readers. There’s a lot of crying in this fic so far, I just realised. Whoops, have some more. Thanks once again for the comments and kudos; I wish I could hug every single one of you! Sorry for the lack of a chapter summary; I'm drawing a blank on this one.

_ The room was empty. Not to be mistaken with the common meaning of the phrase; the space he occupied was devoid of meaning. Various items of various uses scattered the floor about, mostly hailing from Tom’s messy corner of HQ, yet the colourful, unique abstract of it all only seemed to register as a pale grey. Nothing mattered anymore, everything he ever dared to care about had been torn away from him, leaving only a wooden soldier as a cruel reminder of the two-faced world he live in.  _

_ MacCready didn’t usher a word to the others as they made their way back, had silently refused any sort of treatment to the gash across his forearm that was a consequence of the blast, and closed himself off completely. Most of the lower-ranking Railroad agents were confused to see the roughed-up man without Ricky, or Bullseye as they knew him. When he wandered off unfollowed to a shadowed corner at the back of the shooting range, a few curious eyes watched him sit down behind one of the cardboard figures before hastily resuming their duties. Des, Tom… They both looked as though they’d seen atom stare them in the face.  _

_ Neither of them wished to speak about the matter, and RJ could hear Des unintentionally snap at Deacon for asking why they were covered in dirt and grime. Oh, god, Deacon… How was he supposed to explain what happened to Ricky’s best friend without breaking down himself? He was hardly holding it together now, for every mention of ‘Bullseye’ that drifted to his still-ringing ears brought him that much closer to the edge.  _

_ Where’s Bullseye? _

_ Wasn’t Bullseye with them when they left? _

_ “Why did Des seem so touchy about Ricky?” _

_ What? Ricky? Who here had any knowledge about his real name? MacCready glanced up through far-off eyes that seemed to be stinging more and more by the second, only to be greeted by a pair of sunglasses and a half-frown. Oh, Deacon. “Listen, I’m not really feeling up to talking.”  _

_ Deacon was not one who could easily take a hint. With a determined huff, he lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged across from RJ, eyebrows furrowing over those ridiculous frames. “No one’s feeling up to talking about this, man! F’you ask me, something all up and happened out there.” When Deacon’s light prodding earned nothing but a shake of the head and a heavy, grievous sigh, his eyes narrowed in suspicion behind his shades. “Ay, Mac?”  _

_ Oh, no. He was starting to catch on. RJ could only blink back the buildup of moisture in his eyes before attempting to ease the situation upon him. It was difficult when he felt as though his entire chest cavity had been ripped out by his spine. “Deacon, I… There’s something you need to know, and I’m only telling you this because we’re both close to Bulls-er, Ricky.” MacCready choked on his own voice as the words barely managed to tumble out of his mouth. The other man seemed to tense up in response to the foreign noise so present in an otherwise unshaken voice.  _

_ “What happened to him?” Deacon leaned forward, a serious, hard undertone lacing every movement.  _

_ “He’s-” against his will, RJ hiccupped sharply, hoarse and drenched in melancholy. He had to take a moment to bite down hard on his bottom lip, clenching rotten teeth and tightly shutting his eyes to try and hold back the barrage that hit him like a tidal wave. Instinct had him leaning forward and hiding behind scarred hands, grasping onto tufts of brown hair and tugging roughly at it in search for some relief.  _

_ A sudden, awkward hold was snaked around him, and upon opening his tearful eyes in surprise, his suspicions that Deacon had pulled him into a hug were confirmed. On any other day he would have lightly pushed him away, grumbling whilst Ricky teased him red about it, but right now, he would take any form of comfort. He didn’t know when he started shaking, or sobbing for that matter, but somehow, Deacon had managed to break the dam. _

_ Before long, Robert Joseph MacCready was reduced to a sniveling mess. It felt so childish, so unbelievably illogical, yet he just couldn’t stop it. It was like being sixteen years old again, forced to pack up and run out of the place he called home, left abandoned to wander the Capital Wasteland with nothing but the clothes on his back. He was lost. _

_ “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Deacon mumbled quietly, no emotion or feeling behind the inquiry. _

_ RJ could only manage a stiff nod, to which Deacon’s breath hitched in momentary disbelief. “I… I p-promised to protect him.” A tightening of grip around him silenced him, for something had evidently caught Deacon’s attention.  _

_ “Hold that thought, pal. Look over here,” he loosened his hold on the mercenary and allowed RJ to hesitantly leave it, the pair cautiously peering around the cardboard that shielded them from prying eyes.  _

_ What caught RJ’s eye first was the initial streak of blue light that seemed to be growing brighter by the second, shining from behind the corner leading to the exit. In an eager display of hope, he ran off from Deacon and nearly launched across Headquarters to see what it was, just barely remembering to grab his hat and tug it back onto his head. The display that met him was brilliant, but blinding in its sheer brightness. MacCready had to shield his eyes behind splayed fingers as a beam of white struck the ground, forcing him to close them. When he dared to slowly open them once again, he was met with the very image he had been mourning not a minute before: red hair mussed and frazzled from the experience, but otherwise in perfect condition. Not a cut or bruise on his body. He wasn’t sure what to do with the pure relief and joy that punched him in the stomach, but he sure as heck wasn’t about to give him a chance to move before he ran forward and hugged him, needing that last bit of reassurance that this was the real, physical thing. He was smiling so fully, one could almost bypass the puffiness in his eyes that was so characteristic of just having cried. _

_ No reaction was gained but a stiffening of every muscle in Ricky’s body, a catch in his breath, and a flinch away. Huh? RJ’s rare smile fell from his face, enticing him to move back again, two pairs of blue eyes meeting each other with familiar recognition, yet hesitation. There was nothing behind his partner’s eyes; no emotion, no glint, no Ricky, just a shaded emptiness that shook them to their cores.  _

_ “Hey, is something the matter…?” RJ ventured uneasily. _

_ “You’re crying,” Ricky stated blankly.  _

_ “Uh…” That loss of a reply was met by a step forward, a swipe across wet cheeks with a shaky thumb (god, his entire hand was shuddering!), and a quick peck to his forehead. There was nothing behind it; no tender intimacy or endearing fondness, just obligation. It was like the kind, caring, gentle man so affectionate and sweet had been replaced by an emotionless, early-model synth. _


	6. The Long Road Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The patient may be subject to unexpected blood loss, often mixed with vomit. However, it may also be found within the mouth, nose, and eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez, this took longer than I thought it would. I’m really sorry, there’s been so much on my plate and I’m just trying to graduate with good enough grades to get the scholarship to the university I want to go to. But before I start writing, I’ll just say that if you’re gonna look up photos of people with radiation sickness for a reference, do not eat before. I plowed through three shawarmas and a bunch of hummus and bread before moronically scrolling through google images and now all that garlic sauce is threatening to make a reappearance. But vomiting aside, thanks for sticking with me through this entire month of inactivity! I really do appreciate you all, and I hope you’re doing well! Enjoy this next one!

Nightmares were nothing new to him, whether they were plagued with screaming, cold sweats, hot flashes or all of the above. When one is torn out of the very world they know, plunged into a merciless, irradiated wasteland with nothing but the apocalyptic imprint of what once was home, the mind tends to panic. However, as the only true artifact of a world now forgotten by most and muddled in the memory of non-feral ghouls shot up in a fit of manic hyperventilation, there was nothing to calm him down. No one to ground him in reality, remind him that danger was not present, or give him that sense of security that he needed to come back down. Ricky supported himself on arms that were once strong, but now felt weak, shaking slightly at the elbows. In his panicked state, he was awarded a brief gift of full consciousness, blinking away the fluid build-up in his eyes and taking in his surroundings. The darkness was too thick to make out much, but the faint outlines of a window framed the faint light of the night sky, dotted with stars. 

“S’okay, it was just a dream,” Ricky whispered to himself, the words tumbling clumsily out of his mouth. His face was wet, eyes stinging with a vengeance. The salt of his tears, probably. He raised a hand to his closed eyelid, rubbing the heel of his palm against it, repeating the action with his other eye. When he lowered his hand once again, the sight of the residue left behind nearly made him choke. No, it couldn’t be. He was seeing things, left-overs of his nightmare, being paranoid. Still, he flipped the switch on the clunky pip-boy on his left wrist, turning on the flashlight to get a better look. 

The bright green flash was blinding in the darkness, and Ricky had to squint and turn away to allow his eyes to adjust. Since when were they so sensitive? After a solid minute, they didn’t hurt any less, so Ricky decided to just bite the bullet and look, and what he saw confirmed his uneasy suspicions.

Deep crimson liquid, staining the skin as it formed a path down his wrist.

Blood.

He could already feel his throat clenching up. “Okay, okay,” Ricky nodded frantically, speaking to himself in breathless tones. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, maybe he had just cut something under his eye, maybe… 

With sudden resolve, Ricky scrambled to his feet, his usual agility compromised in a string of clumsy movements. Eventually, he managed to stumble his way in front of a mirror, the dirty glass shattered and cracked like a ripple across a lake, offering multiple, distorted views of the same image of his face, but the focal point was a shocking picture of his eyes. A striking scarlet shaded the white around his irises, pooling at the bottom, by his tear ducts. When he dared to blink, the red fluid spilled over, rolling in thick droplets down pale cheeks. It was like something out of a horror movie, and for a moment Ricky just stood there, unmoving, unable to do anything but watch. 

The fear hit him all at once, like a stationary cat had just pounced on the unsuspecting mouse that was him. What little colour there was drained from his face, his throat clenching in on itself and forcing him to breath in rapid, shallow inhales. Ricky couldn’t look at himself any longer, at the man who seemed to be crying a barrage of blood staring back at him, and as such stumbled back, quickly turning away and nearly jamming the button on his pip-boy as he shut the flashlight off. He stayed for a few eternal moments, slouched over in the darkness, hands grasping at his thighs. “Holy shit; holy shit; holy shit…” A repeated phrase, over and over, his voice hardly sounding like his own. “Okay, okay… Get it together, bud. You’ve killed giant mutated horned beasts with giant claws, you can handle this.” 

Despite the raw resolve of a soldier, the constant, trained vigilance within him that told him to fight through it, to suppress the urge to panic, to retreat, to hide, a burning thought at the back of his mind shone through the white noise:  _ Where’s RJ?  _

 

***

 

The stress made it difficult to sleep, but MacCready managed to catch brief winks of it throughout the night. It was during a shallow, dreamless slumber that he found himself suddenly roused by a frantic tap to his cheek, paired with a fearful whisper of his name. When he recognised the voice as Ricky’s, he found himself wide awake within a matter of seconds, staring up at his outline in the dark. RJ pushed himself up into a sitting position, responding with that soft tone that few others knew about. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

Ricky just shook his head rapidly, his usual hard, steady tone fragile. “Th-that’s just the thing, I don’t know!” To accentuate his meaning, he pressed a button on his pip-boy, and a bright emerald flash sprung to life, illuminating the room, revealing secrets hidden in dark corners. A mutated mouse scurried off with a piece of a sugar bomb in its disfigured jaw, casting a shadow against the wall that would be the material of nightmares for MacCready’s younger self. The mercenary jumped back in a knee-jerk reaction, momentarily unable to process the sight that met him upon seeing Ricky’s face. He couldn’t stop staring into those eyes, the perfect tint of blue stained, tainted by a venomous, angry red. They were squinted, as though it were painful simply to open them. 

“Wha-?! You’re bleeding!” After the initial shock wore off, MacCready grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and lightly tugged him closer, using the sleeve of the white shirt loaned to him to gently swipe off the blood around his eyes, off his cheeks. The bleached, snowy colour was tainted now. Oh, well; his partner was more important to him than rare fabric. “How’d this happen?” 

“I don’t know! I just woke up and they were hurting a lot, so I looked in the mirror and they were ju-” Ricky’s words shot out at a thousand rounds a second, crashing into each other, hardly offering any leeway to discern one word from the next. RJ had to hiss sharply to get him to stop before he hurt himself. 

“Shh, calm down,” RJ spoke firmly, attempting to ground him back in reality. “It’s okay, okay?” He waited for Ricky’s hesitant nod before he continued. “I think I know what it is.”

Ricky’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “You what?”

MacCready exhaled a long, drawn-out breath, his racing, yet tactical mind working its way to some form of plan as he let his hand fall from Ricky’s cheek. He didn’t answer his partner’s inquiry, nor did he elaborate on his previous claim. Instead, he stood up from the tattered mattress, scuffing his heels against the splintered wood floor as he shuffled across the room.

Ricky observed him with interest, watched his fluid movements as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly aside and stretching his neck to both sides. Memories of an insecure RJ flooded into Ricky’s head, of the first times he saw him exposed, so self-conscious and hesitant.

_ “Hey, are you okay?” Whispered against a bare shoulder, though a chaste kiss. _

_ “I-I’m fine.”  _

MacCready didn’t even bat an eye at his own body this time, not as he snatched that green jacket with the torn-off sleeve, nor as he put it on with ease.

_ “You don’t look fine.”  _

_ “Well, I am!” Insisted a little too harshly, a little too quickly. _

He found his tattered duster hooked on the corner of the makeshift door that led into this room, slipping it over his jacket, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

_ “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” reassuring, sincere. _

_ “I already told you that I’m-” cut off by an unknown source, head turned away in shame. _

Next was the belt, fastened tightly around his waist. Then, the strings of spare bullets wrapped around a leg, over his shoulder, just in case.

_ “Hey, now. What’s wrong?” A gentle hand tilted that face back towards his own.  _

_ “I just…” Pause. Silence. Then, hushed tones. “I don’t like my body.” _

“C’mon, up.” MacCready beckoned Ricky up with an offered hand, which the other man accepted gladly. “Go on, get dressed. Get your gun.”

“But what about your hat?” 

RJ chuckled a little cynically. “Blew away in the storm.” 

Ricky stood there for a moment, considering the options presented, before obeying the suggestion. He shuffled up the stairs, away from sight, that obnoxious light tracking his journey all the way to the top. MacCready just sighed heavily to himself, picked up his rifle, and steeled himself for the long road ahead.

_ “Well, I think you’re beautiful.”  _

This was going to be hell, but he would walk through the fire and flames if it meant following his lover.


End file.
